


Riding Shotgun

by Provocatrixxx



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Shotgunning, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Provocatrixxx/pseuds/Provocatrixxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He hears the spark of the lighter over the thrumming of blood in his ears and shifts his posture in time to watch Sherlock raise the lighter to his lips, the hollows of his cheeks as he sucks on the end of his cigarette made all the more obscene for being highlighted by the dancing flame.</i>
</p><p>In which John is protective, Sherlock is nonchalant, and cigarette smoke is a catalyst for the best kind of equilibrium...</p><p>[Shameless and gratuitous kissing!fic]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riding Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Thank you to [Lacuna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenLacuna/pseuds/HiddenLacuna) for the fantastic (and super quick) beta, and the lovely people of Antidiogenes for poking me until I wrote this thing.

The Sig is a comforting weight in John’s palm, solid and slightly cool where his fingers curl around the trigger guard, a perfect extension of his arm even after all these months. He’s panting a little, his heart racing, but it’s under control, and he hasn’t felt this whole in months. Sherlock is leaning back against the wall beside him, his own breathing slightly more controlled than John’s, though his hair is in disarray and there’s a lovely splash of colour across his cheeks.

John has taken the mouth of the tiny alley, and he crouches a little, kicking one leg back for purchase against the brickwork as he leans around the corner just far enough to see. They haven’t been followed, as far as he can tell. The brutality of the executions which they know the syndicate are capable of means he’s not about to take any chances with their safety.

He hears the spark of the lighter over the thrumming of blood in his ears and shifts his posture in time to watch Sherlock raise the lighter to his lips, the hollows of his cheeks as he sucks on the end of his cigarette made all the more obscene for being highlighted by the dancing flame.

“Sherlock,” John hisses, trying to keep his voice from carrying too far. The sharp scent of the cigarette reaches his nose as Sherlock exhales a cloud of smoke, the glowing end of his cigarette bright in the relative darkness of the alley. “Put it out. Right now.”

“Relax, John.” He’s leaning back against the brickwork now, one foot raised to rest flat against the wall, the picture of arrogant calm and a pose entirely unsuited to the situation at hand. “Lestrade and his boys have everything under control.”

John has a few choice words to say about armed policemen, but he bites down on them as he twists awkwardly to check behind them again, dropping into a full crouch now and pivoting on one foot to keep behind the cover of the wall. The street around them is well-lit and almost silent, but John knows better than to take chances. He will protect Sherlock whether Sherlock thinks he needs it or not.

“We should be safe enough here,” he decides, taking a last long glance down the main road before he straightens out again, lowering the pistol so it points down and away from them.

“I told you, Lestrade can handle it,” Sherlock says, shifting so that his shoulder bumps against John’s and flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. The sharp tang of it reminds John of Sandhurst, of precious stolen minutes between hours of sweat and stress and pain. He can smell the sweetness in the smoke now and he closes his eyes for just a moment, breathing hard through his nose.

He jumps when Sherlock wraps a strong hand around the back of his neck, warm leather gripping tight, and when John opens his eyes, Sherlock is right there in his space, pinning John against the wall with the force of his gaze alone.

“You were a smoker,” he says, and stray wisps of white smoke bleed from the corners of his mouth as he speaks.

“All soldiers smoke, Sherlock, it’s the only way to get through training,” John says, trying for a throwaway line, but hearing his voice catch in his throat just a little, his attention caught by the way Sherlock raises the cigarette up to his mouth and takes a long drag on it, drawing it out provocatively. He is holding John’s neck now, manipulating his head as he leans in close, tilting his head just a little until his lips are pressed against John’s and his tongue is probing the curve of John’s upper lip.

John opens his mouth on a reflex, breathing in as the smoke bleeds from Sherlock’s mouth into his, chased by the heat and slickness of Sherlock’s tongue. Sherlock claims his mouth, stroking with the tip of his tongue as John breathes in the smoke, sharp and sweet and soothing as it hits him. It burns his lungs as he draws it in, but Sherlock’s fingers have found their way into his hair and he is stroking gently and John swallows the smoke down and strokes Sherlock’s tongue with his own.

He blows a cloud of smoke into the space between them when Sherlock pulls away, letting some of the tension seep out his spine. His mouth is cool and tingling slightly, missing the taste of Sherlock already, and he can’t help the noise that slips out as Sherlock raises the cigarette up to his lips again, sucking in more smoke before leaning back in to claim John’s mouth.

It’s an even better kiss this time. They fit together easily, and John slips his free hand up to Sherlock’s shoulder, balancing himself and holding Sherlock there while the smoke passes between them. John breathes in slowly, biting at Sherlock’s lips and sucking on his tongue, feeling himself relax against the wall inspite of himself. He chases Sherlock’s mouth as the other man pulls away, eyes closed and body weak with want.

It takes a moment for him to focus when Sherlock presses the filter to his mouth, but then John closes his lips around it and draws the smoke into his lungs, opening his eyes a little to revel in the way that Sherlock’s eyes are fixed on his mouth. The filter is warm and tastes of Sherlock and John raises his left hand to push it away, knocking the cigarette to the ground and he plunges forward and presses his mouth to Sherlock’s again.

Sherlock’s hand tightens against the back of his neck, holding John in place as they kiss, and John all but melts against him, the pistol pressing into the small of Sherlock’s back as he pulls him in close and tight. It triggers something sharp in his brain, and his fingers curl around the grip again as he pulls away from Sherlock’s mouth to breathe.

“Fuck,” he says quietly.

“Hmm?” Sherlock’s breath is hot and damp on John’s neck as he nuzzles behind his ear, kissing the sensitive patch of skin there until John is gasping, clutching at Sherlock’s coat for balance.

“The case, Sherlock,” he gasps, “The murders... executions... oh fuck.”

Sherlock noses down John’s throat, licking over the artery in his neck before working back up to bite at the underside of his jaw.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he purrs into John’s ear, catching his earlobe between his teeth and tugging just a little. “Lestrade texted me. They were picked up ten minutes ago.”

If he had trusted his body to obey him, John would have strangled Sherlock right there, but Sherlock’s thumb had found the sweet spot on the nape of John’s neck and was rubbing tiny, calculated circles there in a way that melted John’s bones.

“So this is..?” he managed to gasp, tilting his head to the side to allow Sherlock’s mouth better access to his jaw.

“Fun,” Sherlock says, taking a step and pushing until John’s back hits the wall again. “This is fun.” He covers John’s mouth with his own again, tasting of smoke and warmth, and John groans into the kiss, clutching Sherlock to him and opening his mouth.


End file.
